Socratree
Short Story # 1
I wrote 'Socratree' in 2020. It’s my first short story and remains close to my heart for several reasons.
1) As my first short story, it instilled in me the belief that I could write beyond Instagram captions and experiment with different mediums. I went on to write a few more short stories after this one.
2) During the pandemic, I was quite disturbed by everything that was going on around me. Seeing death up close rattled me to my core, and I struggled to find meaning and purpose amidst all that was unfolding
3) Around that time, I immersed myself in different philosophies—the only thing that gave me hope and solace. The idea for this story emerged from my long walks around my neighbourhood, intertwined with everything I was learning about the world. I tried to make sense of everything through this piece.
PS: I am sharing this piece unedited, as it was written in 2020. I have grown up from those days so even though it is written by me, I feel some distance from all that is written in it. I hope you find some value in it. Happy reading.
Siddhant is a college student. He studies history at Mumbai University, Kalina, and lives near the college. His house is in a quaint corner in Kalina, where there are a fair number of trees.
“The existence of something is most felt in its absence,” reads the back of a car as he crosses the road.
Siddhant often walks alone to his home but is sometimes accompanied by his friend Chetan. They bond well because they both talk a lot about philosophy and the nature of things around them. Siddhant’s family shifted a lot during his childhood because of his martyred dad’s job in the army. His mom, having a home garment business, always managed from wherever his dad was posted. Siddhant never made firm friendships and, hence, read a lot. From Ruskin Bond and J.K. Rowling in school, now in college, he reads Kafka and Nietzsche.
Just opposite the building where Siddhant lives with Maya, his mother, is a big neem tree that stands alone. It is the least favourite spot to park a car because of the number of pigeons that sit on the tree. He calls the neem tree "Socratree" for his love of philosophy and to pay his respects to the great teacher.
Siddhant looks out of the window often. He doesn’t paint, but he likes to observe things owing to his solitude. He times himself and sees how many BEST buses or rickshaws he can count from his window that opens up to the city. At best, he has counted 30 rickshaws in a minute—21st July 2018, he still has the date written in his diary.
Time is relative, but not for Siddhant. He does almost every task at the same time as the day before. Post-college, Siddhant always sleeps for an hour. In the evening, around 7, he meets Chetan or goes for a walk alone. He reads, eats, meditates, and sleeps.
One day, on his way to college, he noticed something unusual as he stepped out of his building.
Behind Socratree, there was a huge asbestos sheet blocking the view to the other side. Socratree was a big tree with wide branches. The branch that extended to the back of the tree was cut to make way for the asbestos sheet. It looked as if Socratree had been painted on a blue canvas.
Siddhant felt really sad. He wondered if there was some construction about to begin.
While coming back from college, Chetan and Siddhant often indulged in long discussions about the nature of things. Chetan was fascinated with meditation, and in his company, Siddhant started meditating too. They talked about enlightenment, existence, and truth, and had long talks about their own purpose and existence. They often changed hats of ideologies. On some days, Siddhant would come out as a nihilist, trying to explain the meaninglessness in everything around him, and on others, he would announce to his intimate group of friends that he was an existentialist. Sometimes a proud stoic, sometimes a Marxist, but never a hedonist.
A few nights later, Siddhant was awake and sitting by the window. In the moving wind, as the leaves of the Socratree rustled, Siddhant’s attention went to the tree, and he found out that the tree was back to its original shape. The very next moment, he smiled. He was fooled. It was the shadow of the tree on the asbestos that made it look like the tree was back to its shape. Siddhant felt amused at the idea of sharing this with his friends the next day, and he slept.
Everybody was fascinated with Siddhant’s observation. Chetan and Siddhant even went ahead discussing the hidden meaning behind this beautiful imagery.
Siddhant was somehow convinced that he could not be a nihilist anymore. Chetan wasn’t too convinced. On returning from college that day, Chetan happened to narrate a story to Siddhant that went like this:
“A zen master and his disciple had an estranged relationship. The disciple had stayed for years at the Zen monastery, but he had started to feel very meaningless about everything. Years of meditation and sitting in silence, he started asking himself and the master about the purpose of everything. The master always gently pushed away the conversation and told the disciple, 'I will tell you when the time is right, child.'
The disciple had heard this for the past 9 years. He felt that he was betraying himself by not listening to his heart, and he decided to leave the monastery just after the Buddhist New Year.
The Zen master was old, very old. He was around 80 years of age, and even though fit and healthy, he had started to believe that his time had come.
One day, he called the disciple to his modest room and told him that he would know the answer tomorrow morning before dawn.
The disciple slept calmly and woke up excited and full of joy. He would finally hear from the master the nectar of truth.
The master had passed away in his sleep. Without pain, without any sign of discomfort. It felt as if the master knew that he wouldn’t wake up to see the next day’s sun. Or perhaps, he knew he would become a part of what constitutes it.
The disciple attained enlightenment.”
“Wow, what a beautiful story,” exclaimed Siddhant.
Chetan was surprised that Siddhant could understand the story. He asked him if he got the meaning behind it or if there was any meaning at all, to which Siddhant replied that he had not got the story, but it felt nice to his ears.
Both friends laughed and continued walking home.
Siddhant’s 4th-semester exams were to begin soon. Not very fond of excelling in the exam, he only studied enough to make his mother happy. Maya was too fond of her lone child. After having lost her husband in the army, Siddhant was the only family she had, and she was proud of him. She always thought Siddhant would become a teacher, but she never imposed her ideas on him and just let him be. She was a happy mother.
Two months passed by, and Siddhant and Chetan entered the 3rd year. Not much time was left before college would end, and everyone would have to choose their career paths.
In Mumbai, the onset of the odd semesters always coincides with the monsoons.
Siddhant was without his umbrella that day. It was sunny in the morning. Just before he could enter his building, it started raining heavily. For a minute, to hide and prepare himself to run towards the building, he took shelter under Socratree. It had been long since he had gone close to the tree or thought about it. While Socratree grew some extra leaves and branches, to his surprise, he saw a plant big enough of his height growing next to the tree as if it were the child of Socratree. He named it Planto!
He was amused at the sight and ran back home, hiding his phone in the bag and clenching the bag to his stomach. Before sleeping that night, he looked at Socratree and Planto and felt joyful. He was excited to share Planto with his friends the next day. His friends always felt fascinated by his everyday observations, and it made him really happy.
The same night, it thundered and rained like cats and dogs. It had been raining heavily and continuously for the past 14 hours. Siddhant was sure that the city would be flooded. College was shut, and so were all the schools and means of public transport.
In the morning, Siddhant went down to park his bicycle upstairs at his home.
The blue canvas looked empty.
Socratree had fallen down early in the morning because of the heavy wind. Planto’s remains were not even visible.
Siddhant looked from a distance at the blue canvas where Socratree and Planto stood just 14 hours back. Now remained their remains and the empty blue canvas.
Siddhant attained enlightenment.
I invite you to reflect and write on the following prompt:
Write about a time when something seemingly small—an object, a moment,
or a conversation—shifted your perspective on the world.
As a feature of all my newsletters, I share one song, one book, one plant-based meal, one film/video that inspired me, and some photographic updates from my life.
Song: This song has gently pierced my soul and made a small hut within me. Zeb’s voice is heavenly. I pray for her long and healthy life.
Book/Newsletter: I enjoyed reading
’s reflection on language and how colonization has made fluency in English a priority over our mother tongues in India.Meal: Indulged in some amazing vegan meals with my friends!
Plant Based Pizza and other delicacies Film/Video: Watched “The Mehta Boys” which is getting a lot of attention on social media. It’s about a father-son relationship. Boman’s acting steals the show while Avinash’s is great too. I would love to see more of him. However, there was a lot happening in the film and I do not enjoy the kind of films in which there is too much happening. I feel that is a shortcut writers take to add scenes to the film. I wish there were more scenes as is, perhaps in the house they were in or any other setting.
Photographs:
Read my other newsletters :The story of moving to the mountains
Compilation of all recommendations :
Video recommendations by Creative Writing Laboratory
Music recommendations by Creative Writing Laboratory
Books read by Creative Writing LaboratoryFree Journaling eBook:
Last year, I compiled a journaling ebook for myself for times when I feel I have nothing to write. I am offering it to you for free. Whether you’re starting your journaling journey or feeling stuck in a creative block, this guide will help you find your way.
Download your journaling eBook here.
Thank you for reading my work
Rishabh Khaneja
Creative Writing LaboratoryInstagram | Substack | LinkedIn | Creative writing workshops
Hie, I loved your short story , It is warm beautiful .. gentle. I loved the relatable characters ! :) Thank you for sharing.